I know what you’re thinking- those are some pretty hot looking bow ties, right? I know. There is a lot going on in this picture. If the 1980s era was about excess than my three tier bow tie shirt exemplifies the times. I’ve never seen another shirt like this in my life. Would the generation of today believe me if I told them, this was cutting edge fashion? More importantly, washboard abs and 12-inch waist line, where did you go?
I post this picture of myself in restitution to my mom. She was disgruntled a few posts back that I published a Skype photo of her with “włosy nie czesane”- hair uncombed. I told her I was sorry and that I would post an embarrassing photo of myself just to be a good sport.
I’m only all too sorry that my other favorite photo of me standing in front of a Billy Idol poster in a safari ensemble is safely tucked away in a box in my parents’ basement. It was another hands on hips shot. The stance I usually take when I mean business.
It’s hard to know what to comment on first.
Despite the white flats, acid wash jeans, Madonna belt, spiral perm and pink frosted lipstick, let the record state that I had a boyfriend. Long term. And no, he was not imaginary like Jan Brady’s boyfriend, George Glass.
A few years ago I was “putting myself out there” on match.com and decided to post this photo in the gallery of photos to showcase my best self. I hated the artifice of perfectly poised photos and thought a royally goof-ball photo balanced out the nice headshots and the potentially snobby sounding things that I enjoyed: English Breakfast Tea, reading, traveling, writing, theatre and art. Surely my prince charming would see this photo and die laughing, but I don’t think anyone picked up on my sense of humor or the idea that I try not to take myself too seriously. Was that not the right approach? Who cares! Life’s too short to pretend I didn’t wear three bow ties on a blouse. I know somebody is out there laughing with me, maybe even in a pair of parachute pants.
My current self is still a part of my 80s self and I’m not ashamed to say we are the same person. While I don’t have the acid wash jeans or the frosted lipstick anymore, my hands are still on my hips.
Whether it’s meeting a new guy, sending out my essays to literary magazines (3 rejections this month) or sliding down a double black diamond like a human luge, that proverbial limb is something I want to keep crawling out on.
It’s scary as shit, but I know its got the greatest views.